Citadel of Demons Read online

  No matter, it would do as a follower, as a worshipper, as a spare shell should this one become too damaged.

  He paused for a moment considering that thought. Had it come from him or Xothak? Was that all he was to his master, a mere vessel, a thing to be used and tossed aside if it faltered or failed?

  What did it matter? He worshipped Xothak and adored it. He was the chosen among its chattels. He was offered a place that no other would be while he lived. He was perhaps a pet, but a favoured pet.

  Once again, he wondered at where these thoughts had come from. Were they his own or had they leaked into his brain from the underspace in which Xothak lived.

  It does not matter. The thought sidled into his mind. I am the prophet of a god. I am his representative on this earth. I will bring his word to the people and I will rule them in his name. I will see that bright shining madness is unleashed in his name and the world remade in his image. We will rebuild the vast network of standing stones and we will drain this world dry.

  He took a deep breath. He practised the exercises he had learned during his earliest apprenticeships in sorcery. He felt the huge reservoir of power within him, and knew that it was affecting his thoughts. He exhaled, breathed in and listened to his heart pound.

  This was like taking some particularly potent drug. He had just bonded an Old One to his flesh and made deep contact with Xothak. Of course, there were going to be side effects. Of course, he was going to take time to adjust to it.

  The freed Old One hovered there. He sensed the madness in it and the aggression, the naked need to dominate that seemed to be part of all the Lunar warlords he had met.

  Wait. He had never met any Lunar warlords, but the Old One he had bonded had. He was one of them. He recalled briefly the endless rituals of challenge, all the subtle ways in which they had competed. Now he was faced with a naked manifestation of such. The Old One arced threateningly, extruded protoplasmic tendrils that became blades.

  He responded in kind, unleashing all his aggression, physically, psychically, as a cloud of pheromones. For a moment, he thought the Old One would attack him, but it backed away. It might not yet be sentient but it knew that he was higher than it in the pecking order.

  One by one, he freed the remaining five Old Ones, and one by one he went through the rituals of dominance and submission. Only the last and greatest did not back down. It rose in a great column of thrashing protoplasm, a chained whirlwind of moving flesh and it lashed out at him, bludgeoning him with spells and clubs of spiked flesh.

  He welcomed the challenge. It gave him something to focus on, upon which to focus the rage that had slowly built up within him as the rituals progressed.

  Watch and learn. He broadcast the words psychically and shouted them in the Eldrim tongue. Chained lightning flickered through the air. He avoided the Old One’s blows, with ease and slashed its flesh with the sacrificial dagger. The Old One did not heal the cuts he made. Its flesh flopped out of its body, breaking down into black, blighted pools.

  The other Old Ones watched, their madness calmed by the spectacle of battle. Even in their insanity, they sensed this was important. It would decide who would be their leader. It would reveal weaknesses in the contenders. This knowledge flowed into Balthazar’s mind.

  He invoked a spell of life draining and began to suck the energy from his victim, feasting on its life force and its memories even as he consumed it. Once more images flickered through his mind. This time he ignored them, knowing it would take time and effort to assimilate them and not wishing to be distracted by the process. As the spell took hold, his opponent’s struggles became weaker and weaker and its flesh lost its glistening patina and became grey and ashy. It turned to dusty flakes and blew away and eventually there was nothing left but a swiftly vanishing pile of ash.

  Balthazar stood there sated and allowed the glow of his satisfaction to radiate through the chamber. All of them knew now who their leader was. The golem watched with empty eyes, taking in every nuance of the struggle, weighing him and judging him. Balthazar wondered whether it truly wanted him as an ally or it was simply waiting for a time to strike once it fully understood the strengths and weaknesses of its foe.

  No matter. He would deal with it as he would deal with any potential rival. Nothing could be allowed to stand in his way to dominance. Nothing would. He would make sure of that. All that remained now was to ensure the death of the Guardian and he could proceed with his plan as he willed.

  First, he had something else he must do. Once Nexali had transformed him. It seemed only fair that he return the favour. And once that was achieved, he would have his vengeance upon Kormak at last.

  Balthazar beckoned Nexali closer. “Come, I have a gift for you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kormak slept uneasily, his dreams haunted by visions of the surrounding citadel. In them, it seemed more alive, a golden glowing place through which marched bright metal golems, over which great golden sky chariots hovered, under which orichalcum mole machines burrowed, extending a maze of corridors ever downward.

  Every machine, every walking statue, moved in perfect synchronisation as if guided by a single intelligence. Everything was in harmony. Everything worked perfectly. There were no signs of catastrophe, no holed walls, no broken engines. The sun shone brightly in the sky. Somehow, he knew that everything he was seeing was as it had been a long, long time ago. In this distant past, the citadel still worked as it should.

  He saw armies of monsters lay siege to it. Hordes of glittering armoured Eldrim used magical weapons against its walls and were thrown back. Lumbering giants and floating Quan attacked in living war machines. Shadow-encased skyships attacked with weapons of darkness and balefire. All were repulsed.

  Orichalcum engines emerged from the citadel and skimmed off across the sky. They returned bearing cargoes of captive Old Ones. These prisoners were taken below and entombed in sarcophagi. Somehow Kormak knew they were not dead, merely imprisoned while the masters of the citadel could study them. He saw the elder signs and the engines of Light and knew that they were Angels of the Holy Sun.

  He understood then why Vorkhul had been captured and brought here. The angels wanted to learn more about their enemies. They probed their captives with magical mechanisms; they catalogued their findings in blocks of wraithstone that somehow not only stored the information but the pattern of the angel’s minds.

  He saw the citadel slowly expand, growing like something organic rather than built by its inhabitants. He saw mighty machines stride forth to make war on its enemies. He sensed the gigantic power slumbering within it. He saw the surrounding lands drained of magic to provide a barrier to the enemies of the angels, an invisible moat. He realised he was looking upon the greatest fortress of his faith that ever existed on this world, and somehow that discovery left him numb.

  These were not angels as he had been taught in scripture. They were more alien and far less ethereal. They had physical forms. He had been taught that beings of light wore that armour of orichalcum and yet he saw no sign of them, only the mobile, unliving mechanisms. There was no denying the intelligence that guided them. It was simply that he saw no divine inspiration.

  At night, the citadel glowed with its own light, beaming out illumination to every corner of the crater in which it rested like a miniature mechanical sun.

  Something changed among the angels. Their studies of the Old Ones had provided a gateway for the Shadow to enter their minds. Encoded within the very substance of the Eldrim was information capable of altering the nature of the beings who sought to understand it. It was knowledge so deep and so subtle that it took ages to alter the perceptions and mental structure of the angels, as it became incorporated into their thought processes.

  Eluding all the wards and defensive spells, it deployed something new into the memory stones of the fortress of light. Corruption spread through the systems. The ordered minuet of the machines became a mad whirling dance of destruction. Weapon systems f
ired at random. Golem fought against golem. One by one, the lights of the citadel dimmed. The vast machine went dormant. A deathly stillness fell into place and the machines came no more. Nor did the enemies.

  In time, the wastelands grew around the citadel and from time to time, the desert tribes came, looked upon the ruins in awe, and then withdrew. Centuries turned to millennia and graveyard silence hovered over the citadel until one day a company of men, not monsters in misshapen armour like the Blighted Ones, but soldiers in the tabards of a mercenary company arrived. Kormak recognised one of them as Anders. He saw them almost accidentally unearth the coffin of Vorkhul.

  This desecration triggered some ancient alarm and the citadel came to life. It was a weak shadow of what it had once been but its golems were more than enough to drive the humans forth, massacring most of them. He saw one wagon escape bearing the coffin of the Old One. The intelligence guiding the machines would have pursued but something happened. The golems started to fight among themselves as if in a resurgence of their ancient conflict. It had not ended; it had merely gone dormant like the citadel.

  He was aware that he dreamed, and he was just as aware that this was one of those dreams he sometimes had that revealed the ancient truths about a place. Just as that thought occurred to him, he heard metal feet clattering on metal floors and he knew the sound did not come from inside his dream. He woke, his hand going to his sword, and saw that golems like the ones he had dreamt off were marching through the archway that led into the courtyard where he had been sleeping.

  One of the orichalcum monsters reached down, picked up one of the Emerald Swarm and brought its metal fingers together. They sheared through the armour of sand person’s neck. His head separated from his body and he rolled to the floor.

  “Up, everybody,” Kormak bellowed. “We are under attack.”

  Half a dozen of metal humanoids moved into the courtyard. Their eyes emitted a soft golden light. They moved stiffly, arms held ready to strike. Kormak noticed that their hands had only three fingers and that their thumbs were the same size as the other fingers. They did not appear to be armed with anything other than their bare hands but they had just proven that they did not need to be.

  “Not again,” said Anders, rising. He drew his blade from its scabbard and backed over to where Kormak stood. Zamara and Rhiana did the same. The Emerald Swarm tribesfolk formed a circle between them and the golems. They threw themselves forward striking at the metal men with blades extruded from their armour. Their blows rang against the solid metal and did not penetrate it.

  “We need to get out of here or we are going to die,” said Anders. He gestured towards the way they had come but more metal figures already moved out there.

  “We’re cut off,” Rhiana said.

  “It was a trap,” said Zamara.

  “We’re not caught yet,” said Kormak, even as the metal men entered behind them. They had moved silently into position without the sentries spotting them. Remembering his dreams and the corridors within the walls, he had a fair idea of how that was done.

  The golems resisted the organic weapons of the tribesmen. It was time to see how well they did against dwarf-forged steel. A metal man moved towards Kormak. Its movements were swift and well coordinated. It did not feel threatened by him in the slightest. That made it easy to strike. It raised its arm to block his blow.

  Kormak’s blade scythed forward. Its runes glowed as they penetrated the orichalcum. Shock ran up Kormak’s arm as the blade bounced partially back. He stabbed at one of the eyes. It splintered on impact. The smell of ozone filled the air.

  The thing aimed a blow at him. Kormak sprang backwards. He heard steps behind him and threw himself forward. A metal arm swept through the air where his head had been. As he dodged, another closed in.

  He lashed out with his leg, hooking it behind his attacker’s knee and pulled the thing off balance. It clattered forward onto the stones. He sprang to his feet, narrowly avoiding being kicked.

  Was there a weak spot on the golem’s neck joints where the metal flexed? He lashed out with his blade and severed a head. It rolled clear. For a moment, the body stopped moving but then it seemed to orientate itself and came at him again.

  For a few heartbeats, all Kormak could do was duck and weave and dodge in a frantic struggle to keep himself alive amid a whirlwind of coordinated attacks. He saw an opening, lopped off a limb at the elbow, slashed at a leg, and toppled the golem.

  This was worse than fighting against the walking dead. They had never been so swift or well coordinated. The others had managed to pin down a few of the golems, and were piling on top of them. Rhiana had picked up the severed head and was bludgeoning an immobilised golem with it.

  His people were getting the worst of the fight. There was not much they could do against opponents who seemed all but invulnerable to their weapons. Most of the Emerald Swarm were already down and more and more golems were entering the courtyard.

  From a balcony above him, he heard wild, maniacal laughter. Looking up, he saw Balthazar. His entire body aside from his head was encased in armour resembling that of the sand people. A halo of dark energy played around his face, and his eyes glowed strangely. Beside him stood a woman, similarly clad, and similarly shimmering with energy.

  “You are too late, Guardian, I have found what I came for! You have found only death.”

  Alien forms moved around him, shifting shape with an ease that reminded Kormak of Vorkhul. It seemed that Balthazar was not lying.

  It looked like their luck had run out and they were going to die.

  Just as that thought occurred to him the lights flickered. The mechanical men halted for a moment, frozen on the spot. A doorway, previously concealed in the wall slid open, revealing a long corridor, receding down into the depths beneath the citadel.

  One of the metal men spoke: “Run! I can only hold them for so long.”

  Was it a trap? Kormak could not tell. They were going to die if they remained here anyway. He looked at the others. “Go!”

  Kormak pushed Zamara through the entrance, and gestured for Rhiana to follow. Anders needed no encouragement. Ahexotl and two of the sandfolk managed to get through the archway. Kormak stood, blade bared, watching their backs. Looking at the blood-splattered golems, it was obvious that no more of the desert people were going to survive. He stepped back into the corridor and the door slid silently shut behind him. Moments later, metal rang against metal, as blows rained down on the door. It was clear that the golems were trying to batter their way in and it would not take too long for them to do so.

  “What just happened there?” Zamara asked.

  “We were attacked by the same things as killed my old company,” said Anders. “They seem stronger now and there are a lot more of them.”

  “And Balthazar was with them He brought some Old Ones,” Rhiana said.

  “That door is only going to slow them down for a little while,” said Kormak and then they will be upon us again.”

  “I can help you get away, if you will follow me,” said a voice in Eldrim. It did not sound remotely human. Looking around for its source, Kormak saw a small metal being, hardly bigger than a dog. It was the shape of an eye and floated above the ground at about the height of a human head. A halo of light played around it.

  “Who are you?” Kormak asked in Eldrim. All eyes turned to look at the newcomer.

  “Perhaps I can answer your question as we move. My enemy’s golems will soon break down that door and I would like to put a number of others between us and them before they do so.”

  Kormak considered this. Once again, he feared a trap but, having decided to step through the doorway, they might as well go along now. He strode forward, as he did so, the glowing eye twisted and floated away down the corridor at the same speed as man could run. Kormak lengthened his stride until he ran alongside it. His companions raced along in his wake.

  “Now, will you tell me who you are?”

  “I am an Aurathea
n. In the tongue of the Eldrim my name is Zhamriel.”

  Zamara heard the word Zhamriel and staggered to a halt. He might have recognised the word Aurathean as well. The most common translation from Eldrim was angel. It meant the same thing in Solari.

  “What did it just say,” the Admiral asked.

  “It said it is the Angel Zhamriel.”

  Zamara stared at Kormak goggle-eyed. Anders halted as well. “The one whose armour stands in Trefal cathedral?”

  “That sounds like blasphemy,” said Zamara. “This looks like no angel I have ever seen depicted.”

  Zamara was right. This floating object looked like no angel Kormak had been taught about. It bore no resemblance to anything that could have worn the great suit of armour in the Cathedral of Trefal. Of course, that did not mean anything. An angel could wear whatever shape it wished.

  “Perhaps you could hold this discussion while you run,” said the thing that claimed to be an angel. “That door will not hold our mutual enemies long.”

  They began to move again, running along behind the angel. Its glow illuminated their way.

  “What were those things that attacked us,” Rhiana asked in Eldrim.

  “They are my former servants. They have been subverted by the renegade.”

  “And what is that?” Kormak asked.

  “An aspect of myself, corrupted by our mutual enemies and subverted from our original purpose.”

  “It is a fallen angel,” Kormak said.

  “An interesting way of perceiving the situation,” said the Aurathean. “And a somewhat superstitious one, if I understand your usage of the word.”

  “You are saying you are not an Angel of the Light,” Kormak said.

  “I can see something strange has happened while I was dormant. I will need to look into that if I get the chance.”